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L'ALLEGRO 6^ 
IL PENSEROSO 

JOHN MILTON 




THE BLUE SKY PRESS 
CHICAGO 



ThfUswarv Of 

CONGHEC5S, 

I .-«u C(JP.-^' RtOhlVED 

()■■ /icisCX-VXo. No. 



COPY 3. 






^ 



Copyright^ ig02 by 
Langworthy & Stevens 




L'Allegr 





Of Cerberus and 
blackest Mid- 
night born 
if In Stygian cave 
forlorn 
'Mongst horrid 
shapes, and shrieks, and sights 
unholy ! 
Find out some uncouth cell. 
Where brooding Darkness spreads 

his jealous wings. 
And the night-raven sings ; 
There, under ebon shades and low- 
browed rocks. 
As ragged as thy locks. 
In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 

BUT come, thou Goddess fair and 
free. 
In heaven yclept Euphrosyne, 
And by men heart-easing Mirth ; 
Whom lovely Venus, at a birth. 
With two sister Graces more. 
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore : 

15 



'Srot ^'®«'«3'» 



t^tpfrnp ^ Or whether (as some sager sing) 

^ I^WegTQ ^j^^ fj.^jj^ ^j^^ ^j^^^ breathes the 



spring, 
Zephyr, with Aurora playing, 
As he met her once a-Maying, 
There, on beds of violets blue. 
And fresh-blown roses washed in dew. 
Filled her with thee, a daughter fair. 
So buxom, blithe, and debonair. 

HASTE thee. Nymph, and bring 
with thee 
Jest, and youthful Jollity, 
Quips and cranks and wanton wiles. 
Nods and becks and wreathed smiles, 
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek. 
And love to live in dimple sleek ; 
Sport that wrinkled Care derides. 
And Laughter holding both his sides. 
Come, and trip it, as you go. 
On the light fantastic toe ; 
And in thy right hand lead with thee 
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty ; 
And, if I give thee honour due. 
Mirth, admit me of thy crew, 



i6 



To live with her, and live with thee, ^^(^iitCtfCO 

In unreproved pleasures free ; 

TO hear the lark begin his flight, 
And, singing, startle the dull 

night. 
From his watch-tower in the skies. 
Till the dappled dawn doth rise ; 
Then to come, in spite of sorrow. 
And at my window bid good-morrow, 
Through the sweet-briar or the vine, 
Or the twisted eglantine ; 
While the cock, with lively din. 
Scatters the rear of darkness thin ; 
And to the stack, or the barn-door. 
Stoutly struts his dames before : 
Oft listening how the hounds and horn 
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn. 
From the side of some hoar hill. 
Through the high wood echoing 

shrill: 
Some time walking, not unseen. 
By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green. 
Right against the eastern gate 
Where the great Sun begins his state. 



17 



s 



^^G^lffcCttO Robed in flames and amber light, 

'^ The clouds in thousand liveries dight ; 

While the ploughman, near at hand, 
Whistles o'er the furrowed land. 
And the milkmaid singeth blithe, 
And the mower whets his scythe. 
And every shepherd tells his tale 
Under the hawthorn in the dale. 

TRAIGHT mine eye hath caught 
new pleasures. 
Whilst the landskip round it measures : 
Russet lawns, and fallows grey. 
Where the nibbling flocks do stray ; 
Mountains on whose barren breast 
The labouring clouds do often rest ; 
Meadows trim, with daisies pied ; 
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide ; 
Towers and battlements it sees 
Bosomed high in tufted trees. 
Where perhaps some beauty lies, 
The cynosure of neighbouring eyes. 
XJT ARD by a cottage chimney 
•*• •*" smokes 
From betwixt two aged oaks. 



i8 



Where Corydon and Thyrsis met ^^ Ql^CCTtO 

Are at their savoury dinner set 
Of herbs and other country messes, 
Which the neat-handed Phyllis 

dresses ; 
And then in haste her bower she 

leaves. 
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves ; 
Or, if the earlier season lead, 
To the tanned haycock in the mead. 
O OMETIMES, with secure delight, 
^^ The upland hamlets will invite. 
When the merry bells ring round. 
And the jocund rebecks sound 
To many a youth and many a maid 
Dancing in the chequered shade, 
And young and old come forth to play 
On a sunshine holiday. 
Till the livelong daylight fail : 
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale. 
With stories told of many a feat. 
How Faery Mab the junkets eat. 
She was pinched and pulled, she said ; 
And he, by Friar's lantern led, 



19 



^^QXdiCttO Tells how the drudging goblin sweat 
^ To earn his cream-bowl duly set, 

When in one night, ere glimpse of 

morn, 
His shadowy flail hath threshed the 

corn 
That ten day-labourers could not end ; 
Then lies him down, the lubber fiend. 
And, stretched out all the chimney's 

length. 
Basks at the fire his hairy strength. 
And crop-full out of doors he flings. 
Ere the first cock his matin rings. 
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep. 
By whispering winds soon lulled 

asleep. 
OWERED cities please us then. 

And the busy hum of men. 
Where throngs of knights and barons 

bold. 
In weeds of peace, high triumphs 

hold. 
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes 
Rain influence, and judge the prize 



T 



20 



Of wit or arms, while both contend 
To win her grace whom all commend. 
There let Hymen oft appear 
In saffron robe, with taper clear. 
And pomp, and feast, and revelry. 
With mask and antique pageantry ; 
Such sights as youthful poets dream 
On summer eves by haunted stream. 
Then to the well-trod stage anon. 
If Jonson's learned sock be on. 
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's 

child. 
Warble his native wood-notes wild. 

AND ever, against eating cares. 
Lap me in soft Lydian airs, 
Married to immortal verse. 
Such as the meeting soul may pierce, 
In notes with many a winding bout 
Of linked sweetness long drawn out 
With wanton heed and giddy cunning. 
The melting voice through mazes 

running. 
Untwisting all the chains that tie 
The hidden soul of harmony ; 



^%m^o 



21 



B'@%to 



That Orpheus' self may heave his 

head 
From golden slumber on a bed 
Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear 
Such strains as would have won the ear 
Of Pluto to have quite set free 
His half-regained Eurydice. 
These delights if thou canst give, 
Mirth, with thee I mean to live. 




Penserosoi 





ENCE, vain de- ^ fpett 

luding Joys, tf^fOtfO 

The brood of ^^^^^^ 

Folly without 
father bred ! 
How little you 

bested. 
Or fill the fixed 
mind with all your toys ! 
Dwell in some idle brain. 
And fancies fond with gaudy shapes 

possess. 
As thick and numberless 
As the gay motes that people the sun- 
beams. 
Or likest hovering dreams. 
The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' 

train. 
TD UT, hail ! thou Goddess sage and 
^^ holy! 

Hail, divinest Melancholy ! 
Whose saintly visage is too bright 
To hit the sense of human sight. 



29 



3e$enj 



And therefore to our weaker view 
Overlaid with black, staid Wisdom's 

eero0o hue; 

Black, but such as in esteem 

Prince Memnon's sister might beseem. 

Or that starred Ethiop queen that 

strove 
To set her beauty's praise above 
The Sea-Nymphs, and their powers 

offended. 
Yet thou art higher far descended : 
Thee bright-haired Vesta long of 

yore 
To solitary Saturn bore ; 
His daughter she ; in Saturn's reign 
Such mixture was not held a stain. 
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades 
He met her, and in secret shades 
Of woody Ida's inmost grove. 
Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove. 
OME, pensive Nun, devout and 
pure. 
Sober, steadfast, and demure. 
All in a robe of darkest grain, 
Flowing with majestic train, 

30 



c 



And sable stole of cypress lawn ^f Cbcit? 

Over thy decent shoulders drawn. ^^4*^^^ 

Come ; but keep thy wonted state, 

With even step, and musing gait. 

And looks commercing with the skies, 

Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes : 

There, held in holy passion still. 

Forget thyself to marble, till 

With a sad leaden downward cast 

Thou fix them on the earth as fast. 

And join with thee calm Peace and 

Quiet, 
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth 

diet. 
And hears the Muses in a ring 
Aye round about Jove's altar sing ; 
And add to these retired Leisure, 
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure ; 
But, first and chiefest, with thee 

bring 
Him that yon soars on golden wing. 
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne. 
The Cherub Contemplation ; 
And the mute Silence hist along, 
'Less Philomel will deign a song, 

31 



^p rh^n< ^^ ^^^ sweetest saddest plight, 

^ Vr ^ Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, 

0CtO0O While Cynthia checks her dragon 

yoke 
Gently o'er the accustomed oak. 
J Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of 

folly. 
Most musical, most melancholy ! 
Thee, chauntress, oft the woods 

among 
I woo, to hear thy even-song ; 
And, missing thee, I walk unseen 
On the dry smooth-shaven green. 
To behold the wandering moon. 
Riding near her highest noon. 
Like one that had been led astray 
Through the heaven's wide pathless 

way. 
And oft, as if her head she bowed. 
Stooping through a fleecy cloud. 
/^ FT, on a plat of rising ground, 
^^ I hear the far-ofl^ curfew sound. 
Over some wide-watered shore. 
Swinging slow with sullen roar ; 



32 



Or, if the air will not permit, Hp (f\^^ 

Some still removed place will fit, J VT 

Where glowing embers through the tSttOBO 

room 
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom. 
Far from all resort of mirth. 
Save the cricket on the hearth. 
Or the bellman's drowsy charm 
To bless the doors from nightly harm. 
^^R let my lamp, at midnight hour, 
^^ Be seen in some high lonely tower. 
Where I may oft outwatch the Bear, 
With thrice great Hermes, or 

unsphere 
The spirit of Plato, to unfold 
What worlds or what vast regions hold 
The immortal mind that hath forsook 
Her mansion in this fleshly nook ; 
And of those demons that are found 
In fire, air, flood, or underground. 
Whose power hath a true consent 
With planet or with element. 
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy 
In sceptred pall come sweeping by. 



33 



0ero0o 



B 



10 Cbctt/ Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, 

^ Or the tale of Troy divine. 

Or what (though rare) of later age 
Ennobled hath the buskined stage. 
UT, O sad Virgin ! that thy power 

Might raise Musaeus from his 

bower; 
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 
Such notes as, warbled to the string. 
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, 
And made Hell grant what love did 

seek; 
Or call up him that left half-told 
The story of Cambuscan bold. 
Of Camball, and of Algarsife, 
And who had Canace to wife. 
That owned the virtuous ring and 

glass. 
And of the wondrous horse of brass 
On which the Tartar king did ride ; 
And if aught else great bards beside 
In sage and solemn tunes have sung. 
Of turneys, and of trophies hung. 



34 



Of forests, and enchantments drear, 
Where more is meant than meets the 
ear. 

THUS, Night, oft see me in thy 
pale career. 
Till civil-suited Morn appear. 
Not tricked and frounced, as she was 

wont 
With the Attic boy to hunt. 
But kerchieft in a comely cloud. 
While rocking winds are piping loud. 
Or ushered with a shower still. 
When the gust hath blown his fill. 
Ending on the rustling leaves. 
With minute-drops from off the eaves. 
And, when the sun begins to fling 
His flaring beams, me. Goddess, bring 
To arched walks of twilight groves. 
And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves. 
Of pine, or monumental oak. 
Where the rude axe with heaved 

stroke 
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt. 
Or fright them from their hallowed 

haunt. 

3S 



0ero0o 



jf CpCtt J There, in close covert, by some brook, 

S^tQSO Where no profaner eye may look. 

Hide me from day's garish eye. 
While the bee with honeyed thigh. 
That at her flowery work doth sing. 
And the waters murmuring. 
With such consort as they keep. 
Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep. 
And let some strange mysterious 

dream 
Wave at his wings, in airy stream 
Of lively portraiture displayed. 
Softly on my eyelids laid ; 
And, as I wake, sweet music breathe 
Above, about, or underneath. 
Sent by some Spirit to mortals good. 
Or the unseen Genius of the wood. 
UT let my due feet never fail 

To walk the studious cloister's 

pale. 
And love the high embowed roof. 
With antique pillars massy-proof. 
And storied windows richly dight. 
Casting a dim religious light. 



3' 



B 



There let the pealing organ blow, ^P fft^^ 

To the full-voiced quire below, ^ ^» 

In service high and anthems clear, o%Tsj^O 

As may with sweetness, through mine 

ear, 
Dissolve me into ecstasies. 
And bring all Heaven before mine 

eyes. 
AND may at last my weary age 
•^^ Find out the peaceful hermitage, 
The hairy gown and mossy cell. 
Where I may sit and rightly spell 
Of every star that heaven doth shew. 
And every herb that sips the dew, 
Till old experience do attain 
To something like prophetic strain. 
These pleasures. Melancholy, give ; 
And I with thee will choose to live. 




OUNG, calm and @ Qfto^e 

deep was the spirit 

that speaks immor- 
tally in these two 

moods. For they are 

not mere masks of 

the shifting hours, — 

not landscapes, nor 
descriptions : they are moods of the 
poet, wrought out from within, rather 
than impressions superficially set forth. 
They have the patient control that was 
in all his thought, but the organ voice 
had not yet acquired its full note ; after 
that mighty tone was his, these things 
became too slight to utter. To him in 
his final sublimity, they were trifles: 
yet they live. Calm, they feel no chill 
of austerity ; deep in beauty, they are 
well-nigh passionless. 

John Milton the father, scrivener 
and musician, had acquired a compet- 
ency before his eldest son entered 
Cambridge; and had retired to the 



39 



Qjl Oflo^^ house at Horton, in Buckinghamshire, 
where he lived comfortably but with- 
out ostentation. The neighborhood 
was one of pastoral charm ; the land- 
scape quietly rich, and subject to all 
the glories of the changing year. It was 
not the exacfl countryside portrayed in 
the poems, but held many points in 
common with it. 

Hither came John Milton the son, 
aged twenty-four, fresh from his col- 
legiate studies, and eager in the ac- 
quirement of learning. A slender 
young man, albeit well-knit and sound 
of body ; soberly dressed ; his light hair 
falling over his shoulders in the fashion 
of the Cavaliers ; — the very figure we 
conjure up for a deserving student in an 
old romance. But men who saw him 
remembered most his face, for that 
was beautiful: delicate and clear in 
colour, noble in feature, and always 
grave. His eyes already began to feel 
their own mortality, but in them death- 
less dreams were kindling. 

' 40 



The large quiet in his nature that Qj[ (Yt(s(^ 
had given to Milton a certain aloof- ^ ^ 
ness among his companions at Cam- 
bridge made the time at Horton, the 
years during which the poems were 
written, a period of hopeful delight. 
Sometimes, we know, he chafed at his 
own slowness in ripening. Yet he knew 
that he was building in himself an in- 
strument of lofty song. On his return 
from the University, after his final de- 
cision to forego a career in the Church, 
he set about to perfed: his education in 
his own way. There was practically no 
opposition to his desires. He read wide- 
ly and thoroughly, surveyed his own 
equipment without haste and without 
prejudice, and enriched himself in con- 
templation. 

The steady purpose of his life was 
upon him, and he waited for the power 
to come. 

Meanwhile his youth was seasoning 
into manhood. The cold resonance of 



41 



(2\ (TtotC ^he Hymn to the Nativity was gone. 
He had begun to find the beauty in the 
days, and in the words he loved. The 
Greeks and Romans in whose world 
he lived so much were full of spring- 
time thoughts and twilight imagina- 
tions. His poet's heart was beating 
peacefully. Came two moods, a turn 
toward fantasy, and the memory of 
some old songs : he cast those moods in 
numbers that the race *'will not will- 
ingly let die.'' 



Here endeth the book, U ALLEGRO 
and IL PENSEROSO, as written by 
John Milton. 

For this edition the Note was written 
by Thomas Wood Stevens ; two illustra- 
tions were drawn by Harry Everett 
Townsend ; and the whole made into this 
book by Langworthy Gf Stevens at the 
Blue Sky Press, 4J32 Kenwood Avenue, 
Chicago. One hundred copies have been 
printed and the type distributed, during 
the month of September, MCMII; this 
being number ^ ^ 



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